Love is Wild: Sam's Story
by Audra Markwell
Summary: A what if story about Sam. What if he had survived Ginger's attack? Would he become a werewolf? Would he be cured by the monkshood? More importantly, would he and Brigitte end up together?


**_Ginger Snaps: Sam's Story_**

(A story based onthe 2000 movie _Ginger Snaps)_

_Prologue_

My name is Brigitte Fitzgerald.

I was fifteen when my sister died.

_How_ did my sister die, you ask? Well, it wasn't a car crash, murder, or even suicide like my sister and I had always planned to do together. No, my older sister, Ginger, had been killed by a werewolf.

It had all started the beginning of our junior year of high school. I was fifteen and Ginger had just turned sixteen. The two of us were each other's best friend, and were together against the "norms" at Bailey Downs High in Bailey Downs, Ontario, Canada. Ginger and I couldn't have been more different from our very conservative parents. I guess you could have considered us Goths.

Ginger and I were obsessed with death and always made little movies for class projects showing pictures of us in gory death scenes. My favorites had been of a pitchfork through my sister's throat, and of us dead at a tea party where we supposedly drank Clorox. Ginger's favorites were of her impaled on a wooden fence, and of her caught under a (fake) running lawn mower. Ginger and I were so fixated on death and suicide that we even made a pact to commit suicide together: _Out by sixteen or dead in this scene but together forever._

While Ginger and I were contemplating our gruesome deaths, Bailey Downs was facing an animalistic threat, although no one really talked about it: Something was loose in our town, mauling and feeding on the local pooches. It was almost every day some poor bastard would find their darling Rover's insides splattered across their perfect, well-kept lawn. It always marveled me when some person would come onto the street, screaming that "the Beast" had gotten their dog, only for the neighborhood to just look at them and go on about their business. That's how common these attacks had become. They had become old news nobody really cared about.

At school, Ginger and I stuck together against the brats who considered themselves God just because their parents were wealthier, or because they were more popular. Those assholes, Trina Sinclair among them, called us freaks and "the Fitz Sisters". Sure, some of the boys did think Ginger was hot, but they wouldn't be caught dead with her.

Although Ginger and I had to deal with lame parents and idiotic classmates, one thing hadn't popped up in either of our lives yet: our first period. As Mom loved to point out, this was unusual and was bound to happen to us sooner or later. It did happen to Ginger one fateful night.

That day, Slutty Bitch Sinclair had purposely shoved me while we were playing field hockey. I had landed on the remains of a Rottweiler, the handiwork of the Beast of Bailey Downs. This had given Ginger the idea to kidnap Sinclair's own beloved Rotty, and put the remains of another dog in the Rotty's place.

That night, Ginger and I had sneaked out of our house in the dead of night to play our prank. We hiked to the local park, where, sure enough, we found the remains of a Rottweiler. As we started to gather up the remains, Ginger suddenly started her period, blood flowing down her leg.

Just then, as we started to head home, a furry, beige animal, attracted by the blood coming from Ginger, pounced on my sister, knocking her to the ground. In the blink of an eye, before I could register what was happening, the creature dragged my screaming sister into the woods behind the playground. Dropping the canine remains, I bolted towards the woods, following my sister's screams.

I found her in the middle of woods, vainly trying to push the snarling animal off of her as it badly bit and scratched her. In my struggle to help Ginger, my Polaroid camera broke, but not before it had snapped a picture of the creature. The bright light briefly stunned the creature, long enough for me to get Ginger up and haul our asses home.

As we ran through the woods, the creature followed us, snarling. When we got to the road, we narrowly missed a van, but the creature mercifully got the full brunt of the collision. I gaped in shock for a moment at the pulverized animal and the blood-covered van, but then got to my feet, pulling Ginger up with me, and together we headed for home.

When we got back to our house, our parents were out, and so I brought Ginger downstairs to our bedroom and started to take care of her. In the light, I could see just how badly Ginger had been hurt: long, bloody scratches ran up and down her face, chest, stomach, and arms. The weird thing was that even though the cuts were deep, they had stopped bleeding and had even already begun to heal. Freaked, I started to call 911, but Ginger insisted that she was fine.

Later that night, as Ginger slept with her head on my lap, I tried to pull the photo out of my broken Polaroid camera, using a pair of tweezers. When I managed to, I saw that even though the picture was blurry and over-focused, the subject of the picture, some kind of dog-like animal (only much bigger than a dog), had red eyes and long sharp teeth. It didn't look like any animal I had ever seen.

After that night, my sister changed. Her personality became even more aggressive, she became the school slut, started smoking pot, and even started to grow a _tail_. Our mother noticed everything except the tail, and insisted that this was normal. But after a bloody Ginger told me (and showed me) that she had killed our next door neighbor's dog, I realized that something was very wrong, and began to think that maybe, just _maybe_, the creature that attacked Ginger had been a werewolf.

Apparently, I wasn't only one who thought that, although I didn't know it at the time. One day, while Ginger smoked pot with her boyfriend, I noticed a yellow van with a dented bumper, identical to the one that had hit the animal that had attacked Ginger. The owner of the van, a local pot dealer named Sam, then came up behind me and told me to get lost. I asked Sam what he had hit, and, speaking to me like he would to a cop, told me that it had looked like a lycanthrope (the scientific term for "werewolf") to him.

The next day, Sam came up to me and told me that we both saw the animal he hit and asked what it really was. When I didn't have an answer, he told me that he had run over an animal that could be anything at all, but, for some reason, he was thinking that it was a werewolf.

As September melted into October and Halloween approached, things with Ginger started to get scary. Firstly, she infected her boyfriend with the werewolf DNA, which Sam, being a botanist and biology freak, and I had discovered was, in fact, a virus. Secondly, Ginger became more bloodthirsty, leading to the accidental death of Trina Sinclair. But what scared me the most was the fact that Ginger had showed no remorse about hurting anyone, and soon after Ginger had horribly killed our guidance counselor and the school janitor, I realized that Ginger was actually enjoying the act of killing and the taste of human blood.

Before things started to get out of control, Sam had told me that he found a cure for my werewolf virus (to protect my sister, I told him that I was the one infected and now had a huge phobia about silver bullets). Sam told me that a flower called monkshood had the power to cure the virus, but said that since the plant grows only annually, I would have to wait, but he had some seedlings growing. Ginger, listening, burst out that I had fucked myself over after killing the neighbor's dog, and informed me that what Sam was saying was a crock of shit and that the only reason Sam was helping me was to sleep with me. She then stormed away.

The day before Halloween, Mom had brought home some stems of monkshood that she'd bought. On Halloween morning, I locked Ginger (whose hair was streaked with white and had claws for fingernails) into our bathroom, snatched two stems of monkshood and bolted to Sam's greenhouse. He was shocked to see the monkshood, but we proceeded to concoct a liquid antidote from the buds of the flower, and filled a syringe with it. Before I left, Sam, having known the whole time that Ginger was really the one turning into a werewolf, warned me that I may kill Ginger while trying save her and told me to be prepared for that.

On the way home, I had to use the antidote on someone else: Ginger's boyfriend, who had entered the bloodthirsty stage of the werewolf transformation. As he tried to attack a little kid, I managed to inject the antidote into him. Although he was a little dazed and confused, he was completely cured.

When I got home, I found that Ginger had clawed her way out of our bathroom, and was probably already at school. Later that day, I discovered a blood-covered Ginger next to our guidance counselor's mauled body. Later that night, Ginger killed the school janitor right in front of my eyes. After kicking me to the ground, she ran off to the Halloween party in Sam's greenhouse.

Later, my mother, who had discovered Trina's dead body underneath our garage, drove me to Sam's party, wanting to me go in and find Ginger. Mom then told me that although we had done a terrible thing by killing Trina, we were still her daughters and we were going to stay with her. To my shock, she told me she planned to set our house on fire, and then get out of Bailey Downs, leaving Dad behind, saying that he would blame Mom for us being killers.

I then went into the greenhouse, through the raging party. I made my way to Sam's room at the back of the greenhouse, where I could hear Ginger calling Sam a jerk and Sam telling her that he was sorry but he had told her to get off him. I realized that Ginger must have tried to hook up with Sam, but obviously failed. The next thing I heard was a loud crack and Sam yelling in pain.

I then bolted into the room and quickly took in the scene: Ginger, with her now-pure white hair, sharp fangs, and wolfish face, on the floor and Sam, lying against his bed, panting over his broken arm, Ginger's handiwork. Knowing that Ginger wouldn't come back with me unless I did something that would prove that she could trust me, I cut my hand and Ginger's hand and put our hands together, thus mixing our blood together and infecting me with the werewolf virus.

I then pulled her outside to Mom's car, only to discover Mom wasn't there. For a minute, Ginger seemed like her old self, saying that she couldn't travel too fast. Sam then appeared out of nowhere and whacked Ginger over the head with a shovel, knocking her out. Angry, I explained that the cure works, but I needed to get Ginger to our house and make some more. Sam agreed to take us to the house. All the way there, I could feel the virus coursing through my body.

Once we got there, we pulled into the garage. Sam looked into the back of the van to make sure Ginger was still there. We got the shock of our lives with the van doors burst open and my sister ran out, a fully formed werewolf. In shock, we listened as she ran into the house, demolishing it.

Sam and I then crept though the house to the living room, where I grabbed two more stems of monkshood. It was then that I really started to feel the effects of the virus. Sam pulled me into our pantry and we proceeded to make a crude antidote. With the syringe in his mouth, Sam pulled open the door and was suddenly pulled out of the pantry by my werewolf sister. As she mauled him, I listened to my friend's pained, terrified screams.

Once all was quiet, I peeked around the door of the pantry and saw that it was covered in Sam's blood, with a trail of blood leading away from the kitchen and down to Ginger's and my bedroom. Fearing that Sam was dead and for my life, I followed the trail of blood through my house

Reaching the basement steps, I fainted as a result of the virus, and fell down the steps. Recovering, I realized that I had dropped the syringe behind the steps. As I struggled to get it, I heard a yelp coming from nearby. Knowing the yelp was human, I went around the corner, praying that Sam was alive.

He was. He was also very badly hurt and had lost a lot of blood. Not only that, I could also tell that he was yet another victim of the werewolf virus. As soon as my werewolf sister saw me, she abandoned Sam and chased after me.

In our bedroom, my sister pounced on me. Before she could do any damage, I stabbed Ginger in the side with a knife that was in our bedroom. Fulfilling my part of our suicide pact, I laid my head on Ginger's side and stayed with her as she died.

Now _that_ is what really happened.

After the incident, my story became the stuff of legend in Bailey Downs, because the police never discovered who killed Trina, the counselor, and the janitor, or what happened to Sam. The police repeatedly questioned Mom and me about these events, but we played innocent, saying that we knew nothing.

A year or so later, my story became so popular that _Ginger Snaps_, a movie based on what happened with my sister, was made. It became a huge hit in Canada and a sequel and a prequel were made.

After the heat and movie buzz died down a bit in town, Mom wanted to move the two of us away from Ontario, but I decided to stay behind, saying I couldn't leave my sister's final resting place. That was partly true: I _did_ want stay in the town where my sister is buried, but there was another reason. I wanted to stay behind to help Sam.

The movie was true to all that had happened that fall, except for one thing: in the movie, it showed that Ginger killed Sam by ripping out his throat when I wouldn't drink any of his blood in order to make nice with her.

The movie lied.

Sam _is_ alive.

And he's out there, somewhere……bloodthirsty.

_Chapter One_

When Sam came to, the first thing he felt was considerable pain.

The second thing he felt was immense fear.

He knew where he was: the basement of Brigitte Fitzgerald's house.

He knew what had happened to him: he was nearly torn to bits by Brigitte's bloodthirsty werewolf sister, Ginger, and then dragged to the basement so Ginger could use him to use as bait to get to Brigitte.

Sam cracked open his eyes and could see only two things: the darkness surrounding him, and the immense, growling werewolf crouched next to him, waiting for her sister.

Sam could feel pain coursing through every part of his body: his arms (part of the pain was from the broken arm Ginger had given him when she was still human, not one hour ago), his legs, his head.

What scared him the most was the pain that was coursing throughout the _inside_ of his body, and through his fear, Sam registered only one thought: _Those scratched or bitten by werewolves became werewolves. _He had seen it happen to Ginger, and had known that it had happened to other people in Brigitte's life. And now it had happened to him.

But if he managed to get out of this alive (which he doubted would happen), Sam swore to himself that he would _not_ become a lycanthrope. It wasn't going happen.

_No fucking way_, Sam thought.

They had the monkshood cure. After they cured or killed the Ginger-wolf, Brigitte would inject herself with the antidote, and then Sam would limp home and make some to cure him.

Then something even more terrifying happened: Sam was having trouble breathing.

He didn't know if this was because of the pain, his fear, or the werewolf virus. Maybe he was just full of adrenaline.

No. It wasn't just adrenaline. Sam loved biology and knew exactly what was making him hyperventilate. It was a combination of the four.

Just then, Sam heard a thud coming from somewhere to his left, and then the sound of something small hitting concrete. Sam's eyes darted to the left, but out of the corner of his eye saw nothing. Disappointed, he looked directly in front of him, and prayed that Brigitte was all right.

The next sound he heard was an answer to his prayer: a feminine groan. Sam didn't know this, but Brigitte was right nearby, struggling to get to the dropped syringe that contained the werewolf antidote.

Sam tried to yell for her, but his throat was too dry, so all that came out was "Ugh!!!".

He didn't know if Brigitte would hear it.

But then, miracle of miracles-

"Sam?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Sam saw the beam of a flashlight, and then saw Brigitte, a pretty fifteen-year-old with bushy brown hair, come slowly around the corner. Sam could tell that Brigitte was more shocked to see her animalistic sister than the state Sam was in.

"Ginger?" said Brigitte, terrified.

At the sight of her sister, the Ginger-wolf's hackles immediately went up, and she began to growl.

Sam saw Brigitte set the flashlight down and then crawl over to him. Sam saw shock light up Brigitte's face as she took in the sight of him covered in blood, bad bites and scratches all over his face, legs, arms, and chest.

As it became more difficult for Sam to breathe (he could hear his oxygen come in and out in ragged breaths), Brigitte looked directly into his wide, frightened eyes. Breathing faster, Sam tried to send her a message with his eyes: _Do something. Please do something._

Almost as though she could read Sam's mind (_Or maybe, _Sam thought, _she just really wants to sink her teeth into Brigitte_), the Ginger-wolf let out a roar and dove past Sam, so close he could feel the light fur on the werewolf's body graze his face. The werewolf headed straight for Brigitte. Sam heard Brigitte scream and watched as she bolted away, the werewolf pursuing her.

His one friend had left him alone to die a long, slow death. Ginger didn't even have the decency to put Sam out of his misery before attacking her sister.

_This just ain't my fucking day,_ Sam thought.

For the second time in one half-hour, Sam passed out again.

_Chapter Two_

Sam was in his greenhouse, checking on the monkshood seedlings that he had growing. He knew they were important for something, but just what they were important for had slipped his mind. He knew he had planted them to help someone, to save their life, but whose life was supposed to be saved?

Behind him, he heard a thud, the sound of a door closing. He turned around. There stood Brigitte.

She wasn't the Brigitte Sam knew. She wore colorful clothing and had on her beautiful, rare smile. For the first time since he had known her, she looked truly happy. No problems on her mind, nothing to trouble her or worry her.

"Hey, Sam," she said, stepping towards him.

"Hey," said Sam. For some reason, he felt happy to be alone with her. "How's Ginger?"

"All better," Brigitte purred, coming even closer. "She's not sick anymore. Completely cured. Thanks to you."

Stepping up in front of him, Brigitte slipped her arms around Sam's neck and looked into his brown eyes.

"That's good," Sam said with a small smile. Brigitte stretched upward and began nuzzling his throat. Tickled, Sam stifled a laugh and felt his face grow red, something he was positive had never happened when a girl was involved.

Brigitte then began to kiss his neck, and Sam felt his knees grow weak. He'd wanted this for more than a month. "That's _very_ good," Sam said, blushing even more.

Brigitte then kissed him full on the lips, and then pulled away, a mischievous smile on her face.

"There's just one problem, though," Brigitte said, pouting slightly.

She kissed him again. His arms wrapped around her, Sam eagerly returned the kiss. When Brigitte is involved, Sam thought dimly, problems aren't any issue. She's perfect.

"Yeah, what's that?" he asked teasingly.

"I've caught her cold," Brigitte said, her voice dropping to a growl.

Before Sam realized what was happening, Brigitte changed. Her forehead became triangular; her eyes turned orange, her teeth grew into sharp fangs. She turned into the werewolf her sister had been a month ago, the werewolf that had nearly claimed Sam's life for her own.

Before Sam could do a thing to defend himself, Brigitte attacked with a roar.

"Sam? Sam?"

Dimly, Sam felt a hand slap his face, hard enough to wake him, but gentle enough so that it didn't hurt him.

_"Sam!_" said the voice again, more frantic this time. "Please, Sam, don't be dead!"

Brigitte. The voice frantically calling for him was Brigitte's. Groggily, Sam opened his eyes and saw Brigitte's blurry form above him. As his sight grew clearer, he could see worry in her face.

"Sam?" she asked hopefully.

Sam fully opened his eyes and looked around. He was still in the basement. He could tell that some time had passed since he had fainted. His blood on the floor had turned a brownish-maroon color. The blood on his face had dried a bit. Outside, the sun was starting to come up.

"Brigitte?" Sam said groggily.

"Oh, my God! You're OK!" Brigitte said, relieved. She hugged him tightly. The pain from the scratches and from his broken arm nearly made him scream.

"Yeah," Sam said through clenched teeth. "I'm also in a little bit of pain."

"Oh, sorry," Brigitte said, pulling away. Sam looked closely at her face and clothes and saw that there were spots of blood there that had not come from him.

"What happened?" said Sam, painfully pulling himself into a better position. "Where's Ginger?"

Brigitte's face clouded over, and she looked down. "Dead," she said, in a tiny voice.

_Thank God_, thought Sam. His mouth, however, said, "What?"

"W-when she chased me after I found you," Brigitte recounted. "I ran to get the antidote, but I couldn't reach it under the stairs. Ginger tried to scratch me, so I slid out from under the stairs and managed to slip through the little nook that goes in our room from under the stairs. Ginger remembered that nook when we found it when we were kids. S-she was in the room when I got there. I slid under the bed and found a knife of Ginger's. When she pawed at me, I swung the knife and hit her in the chest. I killed her. She's still in our room."

She bowed her head and sniffled. Sam had never seen her cry.

"Hey, you saved both our lives," Sam croaked reassuringly. "It was either us or her."

"I guess I know that," said Brigitte, her voice cracking. "But……my sister……my only sister……my best friend……" Then she really began to cry.

Sam had no idea what to do. He wasn't the type of person to comfort someone. His motto was "Life's a Bitch. Get Over It." But he knew that he couldn't say that to Brigitte. If he had had the strength, he would have pulled her into a hug and let her sob into his shoulder. All he could do was let his good hand hold hers. So that's what he did while she cried for a good minute.

"Look," he said, still holding her hand. "Could we get out of here? We need to get to a hospital and then find your mom."

"What about _your_ mom?" asked Brigitte, sniffling. "Should we try to get hold of her?"

"Don't worry about that," Sam said. "I just think we need to take care of ourselves first."

"OK," said Brigitte.

"OK," said Sam. "First, help me out of here. I don't think I can walk by myself."

Brigitte put Sam's arm around her neck and, with difficulty, hoisted him up. Together, they followed the trail of Sam's blood down the hall, up the basement steps, and into the kitchen. As they passed the pantry door, Sam saw just how bad the door had been broken when he had been thrown up against it.

_No wonder my back hurts_, he thought.

Just then, without warning, Sam's head began to spin. His ears rang and buzzed. He felt his knees turn to rubber as he fell limp in Brigitte's arms. Immediately, Brigitte began to panic.

"Sam! Sam? Are you all right? Oh, my God." Brigitte cried as Sam slid out of her arms and onto the floor, out cold.

_Chapter Three_

Brigitte dashed to the phone, picked it up, listening for the dial tone. Nothing. The phone was dead. Brigitte then realized that her sister had pulled the phone's wire clear out of the jack, hard enough so that the wire was broken. The phone was useless.

"Shit!" Brigitte shouted. How was she going to get help?

She then remembered Sam's van was still in her garage. She had her permit and was a little shaky driving, but she sure as hell could drive when the need to came up.

Quickly, she heaved Sam over to the van's cargo area and gently put him into it. In doing so, she had a strong sense of déjà vu. She and Sam had loaded her still-human, unconscious sister in the van outside Sam's greenhouse just a few hours ago. Sometime during the ride home, Ginger had turned into the monster Brigitte had been forced to kill.

Blinking back tears, Brigitte shut the doors and then climbed into the driver's seat. She found the keys still in the ignition. She turned them, and the van roared to life.

Brigitte quickly drove out of the garage and headed down the street, in the direction of the hospital. She passed places that were so familiar to her, but now held bad memories.

Like the playground. She and Ginger had played there as little girls, but now all Brigitte could think about was how Ginger's life had ended when the werewolf attacked her there.

The van passed the high school. Brigitte didn't know whether or not the police had found the two mauled bodies in there yet. Probably not, given that the parking lot was deserted.

_Boy, are those kids going to get a pleasant Halloween surprise,_ Brigitte thought cruelly. _Their precious guidance counselor and the janitor nobody knew, both dead. _

_Just think of it as Ginger's "good-bye" present, you assholes._

Just then, a horn honked. Jerking out of her thoughts, Brigitte saw a familiar black van coming towards her. Brigitte quickly swerved to avoid the van, and ended up sliding onto the grass on the road. The van pulled to a stop. Behind her, so did the black van. The front door opened.

_Oh, great. The bastard's gonna take me to court for attempted murder. _Brigitte thought.

"Brigitte?"

Brigitte looked out the driver's window and saw her mother standing by her car, looking at her. Whatever differences Brigitte and her mother had, Brigitte had never been so happy to see her.

"Mom!" Brigitte got out of the car and went to her mother.

"Brigitte, where have you been?" Pamela Fitzgerald asked, hugging her daughter fiercely. "Where's your sister? The kids at the greenhouse said you and a young man left the party early."

At the mention of her sister, Brigitte's heart twisted. "Mom, it's a long story. Can you just help me with something first?"

"Why, of course," her mother said, taken aback. "But I don't really see what this has to do with your- Lord Almighty!!!"

Brigitte had open the van doors, giving her mother a full view of unconscious Sam, covered in dried blood.

"Good Lord, what happened to him?" Pamela asked. She went to him and felt his throat. "Oh, thank God, there's a pulse."

"Uh, yeah," said Brigitte quickly. There was no time for this. "Can you get him to the hospital? He passed out, and I don't know what's wrong with him."

Pamela stared at her daughter. "Well, I should _think_ he would have passed out. I would've been very surprised it he hadn't. It's obvious he's lost a lot of blood." She studied Sam for a minute, and then looked up at Brigitte. "I'll get him to the hospital. But once we're there, I want you tell me everything, from beginning to end, what happened and where your sister is. I know something's not right."

They got to Bailey Downs Medical Center in less than ten minutes, thanks to Pamela's expert driving.

Brigitte ran inside and went over to the nurse's station.

"Please, I need a doctor outside," Brigitte pleaded. "My friend got attacked by the Beast of Bailey Downs. He's hurt badly."

The nurse looked up. "Young lady, this is a hospital, not a vet's office. If your dog's dead, there's nothing we can do."

Brigitte hated dealing with stupid people. She made her voice exasperated, but added more panic. "Please, we were walking and this giant dog just came out of the bushes and tore up my friend. He's passed out and in the back of my mother's car." Tears formed in Brigitte's eyes. "He's lost a lot of blood."

The nurse sighed. "Fine, I'll have a few EMTs look him over. Just wait outside."

What happened next was a blur to Brigitte. Three men came out with a stretcher, looked Sam over, loaded him onto the stretcher, and wheeled him inside, looking stony faced. Meanwhile, the nurse kept asking Brigitte questions and filling out forms for Sam.

"What's your friend's name?"

"Sam."

"Full name."

"Uh, Samuel, I think."

"And his last name?"

Brigitte's mind was blank. What _was_ Sam's last name? She'd known him for more than a month, and didn't know his last name. He had never mentioned it.

"Uh, I don't know," she said.

"You don't know?" the nurse repeated, frowning.

Brigitte shook her head.

"All right, then." She scribbled something on the form. "Go sit with your mother. The doctor will talk to you soon."

Brigitte went back to her mother, who was sitting in the waiting room, waiting for her.

"All right, young lady," said Pamela immediately. "I want everything. Start at the beginning. What's been going on with you and your sister?

"You won't believe me, Mom." Brigitte said dully.

"Try me," Pamela said. "I want the complete and honest truth from you."

Brigitte took a deep breath and told her mother everything, starting with Ginger being attacked at the playground. She told her about Ginger being infected with a werewolf virus and how she started to become one, and how Ginger's boyfriend had gotten infected after they had had sex. Brigitte told her mother how Trina Sinclair had died in the Fitzgeralds' kitchen, how Ginger brutally killed the guidance counselor and the janitor, and finally, about last night's events.

After Brigitte ended her story with how Ginger died, Pamela Fitzgerald turned pale. She simply sat there, staring at Brigitte.

"Mom, I know you don't believe me-" started Brigitte.

"I do believe you," Pamela interrupted.

Brigitte was shocked.

"You-?"

"Believe you, yes. I've known for awhile there was something wrong with Ginger. I just never thought it was something so horrible And here's me telling you that it was 'normal'." Pamela hugged her daughter. "Listen, I'm still planning to leave town. You're coming with me. We're not going to tell anyone about this, especially not the police. The two of us are going to leave and not come back. After we get out of here, I'll burn the house down. We can't have the police find the body of a werewolf in the house."

"But, Mom-"

"Brigitte Fitzgerald?"

A doctor appeared in the waiting room. Brigitte stood up and went to him, her mother following.

"I'm Dr. Wright, Brigitte. I need to talk to you." He looked up at Pamela. "In private, if that's all right with your mother".

Pamela smiled at her daughter and sat back down.

Dr. Wright led Brigitte into a small room down the hall. He closed the door and looked at her. Brigitte was shocked to see the frown on his face. It could mean nothing good.

"Oh, my God, is Sam OK? Is he-" Brigitte cried, panicked.

"Calm down, Brigitte. Of course he's alive," the doctor said. He was still frowning.

"Thank God," said Brigitte, relieved.

"A person can't die from cat scratches." Dr. Wright went on.

"Cat scratches? What are you-"

"When I looked at Sam, I was perplexed. He was covered in blood, but the scratches on him were thin, like cat scratches. Either his skin heals in an instant, or you've played a prank on us." He looked at her hard. "I've been a doctor longer than you've been alive. Nobody's skin heals that fast."

"A prank? No, I haven't." said Brigitte, unable to think of anything else to say.

"The only reason Sam fainted was because he's lost a lot of blood. We've put a few pints in him, and set his arm, and he'll be as good as new in no time. But really, Brigitte, Halloween's over. Prank time's over. You and your mother can pick Sam up at the end of the day. I'll see you then."

With that, he turned and walked out of the room, leaving Brigitte shocked.

How could he think that? Brigitte asked herself. The scratches were really deep an hour ago. And she had heard Sam being attacked by her sister. Nobody screamed that loudly or was in that much pain from _cat scratches_.

_Chapter Four_

After speaking with Dr. Wright, Pamela and Brigitte went back their house. Pamela was so shocked to see her less-than-immaculate house that Brigitte was afraid she was going to have yet another unconscious person on her hands. But Pamela shut her eyes and pulled herself together.

"All right, Brigitte," she said. "I want you to go downstairs to your room and pack your things. We'll drop Sam off at home tonight, and then we're outta here." She walked into the living room to examine the shredded couch and the rest of the damage that Ginger had caused.

"No, Mom," said Brigitte.

Shocked, Pamela looked up from some broken china that littered the trashed living room. "What?"

"I'm not going with you. I'm staying here."

Looking stern, Pamela walked over to Brigitte and put her hands on her shoulders.

"Brigitte, you don't understand," said Pamela, looking into her daughter's eyes. "Terrible things have happened here that were the cause of our family. People are going to realize that three people are dead, and a fourth person, the one responsible for those deaths, is also dead. You, your father, and I are going to be blamed for it, and I'd rather not be here when the police come knocking. It's better your father than the two of us. He would never understand what you've told me."

"Mom, I'm still not going," said Brigitte. "At least not yet. Just please let for stay here for at least a month or so."

"Why?" said Pamela, frowning.

"I have to help Sam," said Brigitte. "He's infected now. If we don't cure him, he'll become the next Beast of Bailey Downs, and the deaths that happened will just be the beginning."

_Ah. Home sweet home._

Sam had never thought he'd say those words. The phrase always sounded so corny to him.

Now, it was the best phrase in the world.

It was nighttime, and he and Brigitte had arrived in the driveway of his greenhouse. His domain.

His home.

Mrs. Fitzgerald had offered to drive him home from the hospital, but he had said no. He could make it there by himself.

By "himself", he'd meant "with Brigitte", of course.

The walk from the hospital to his greenhouse was a twenty-minute walk.

It had been dead silent for fifteen minutes out of the twenty.

Sam knew why. Now that their adventure with Ginger was over, they barely knew what to say to each other. Brigitte didn't need his help anymore. There was no point for a twenty-year-old grown-up like Sam to hang with a lowly fifteen-year-old like Brigitte.

Then how come he didn't want to leave her?

Sam was beginning to think he had feelings for Brigitte, feelings deeper than anything he'd ever felt towards her.

_I guess that's what happens when two people team up against a vicious werewolf_, Sam thought. _They begin to see each other in a new light._

_Goddammit, I'm messed up. _

"Uh, Sam?"

"Yeah?" he said, coming out of his thoughts at the sound of Brigitte's voice.

"Um, I'm going to go home," she said. "Mom's leaving town tomorrow, and I have to help her pack."

"Are you gonna go with her?" asked Sam, not wanting to know the answer.

"Not yet," said Brigitte. "I'm gonna stick around for awhile. I'll see you later."

She gently touched him on the arm that wasn't wrapped up in a white sling and then left. Sam watched her until she disappeared into the darkness. He then entered the greenhouse.

All the familiar smells came rushing back to him. Fertilizer. Soil.

And then he saw the remnants of the Halloween party from last night. Plastic cups strewn everywhere. Empty beer bottles. The butts of a few of the joints that he himself had sold to the high school kids were all over the floor.

"Oh, fuck me," Sam said out loud.

_I'm cleaning up tomorrow. That is, if I haven't grown fangs and a tail by then._

He made his way to his bedroom, and immediately checked on his supply of marijuana he had growing in a room connected to his.

Luckily, his babies were safe. Not one plant was dead, missing, or even bent.

_Figures_, Sam thought. _The teenage bastards trash my greenhouse but don't lay a finger on my pots leaves. _

_They probably knew that I would have beaten their asses if I knew they had even so much as looked at my plants, let alone swiped them. _

His bed was in the corner. God, it looked inviting. With difficulty, he changed out of his clothes and climbed into bed, thinking that he'd never experienced anything as freaky as the last twenty-four hours.

_A werewolf nearly tears me to shreds, I get feelings for a girl, the type of girl I would never have dreamed of going out with._

_Nothing in my life could get any freakier._

He wasn't worried about the werewolf infection. First thing tomorrow, he would make the antidote, and he would be cured. Nothing to worry about

_ There's nothing to worry about, _he thought as he fell asleep.

He would be thinking differently in just a few days.

_Chapter Five_

Back home, Brigitte was lying on her bed, exhausted. It was nearly three in the morning. She and her mother had spent the last almost five hours cleaning up the house the best they could.

_What was the point?_ Brigitte thought. _Mom's torching the house tomorrow night._

_I guess she really can't sleep in a less-than-immaculate house._

In her mind, Brigitte went through the list of chores she and her mother had done.

Scrubbing blood off of the walls and floor. Tossing the broken china and porcelain.

Getting rid of Ginger's body.

Pamela hadn't known how to deal with that. Brigitte had suggested simply burying her, but Pamela decided to burn the body, and then bury the ashes. If they had buried the body, Pamela said, the police were sure to find it.

Brigitte closed her eyes and imagined the bonfire in the backyard, her sister's wolf body being thrown into the flames, Pamela and Brigitte standing side by side, watching the body burn.

Not one tear was shed.

Later, before putting the fire out, Pamela told Brigitte to get some sleep while she took care of the ashes. Exhausted, Brigitte had gone to her room. Hers and Ginger's.

Brigitte closed her eyes and tried to fall asleep, but the last night's events kept flashing through her mind.

Ginger, fully wolfed out.

Sam, ripped and torn, saturated in his own blood.

The feel and sound of the knife going into Ginger's side.

The ragged breathing of her sister as Brigitte watched her die.

Brigitte turned her face into her pillow and stifled a sob.

She had killed her own sister. All she wanted to do was to cure her, but ended up killing her instead.

Just then, Sam's words flashed through her mind: "_Understand you may kill her trying to save her"._

Brigitte had heard him say those words. She had thought Sam was full of shit then. She never dreamed that he would be right. That Brigitte would end up killing her sister while trying to save her.

Brigitte thought of what Sam had been through. The broken arm. The scratches and bites.

The werewolf infection.

_Poor Sam,_ Brigitte thought. _He doesn't deserve this._ All he'd wanted to do was help her, and it nearly cost him his life.

_I owe him a lot._

She thought of the first time she saw him outside the high school. He was selling dope to the teenage stoners. With his brown eyes and brown hair, Brigitte had thought him handsome, but Ginger pointed out that no good could come from screwing a drug dealer.

With a jolt, Brigitte remembered that that handsome face would become animalistic unless they did something soon. If they didn't, more people would die.

Brigitte suddenly remembered the syringe lying under the basement stairs just outside the room. As though hit by an electric surge, she got up and ran to the steps. She hoped that her mother hadn't found the syringe and thrown it out.

Brigitte crouched down and looked under the steps.

The syringe was still there.

_Thank God._

On an impulse, without even thinking about it, Brigitte picked up the syringe and injected the purple antidote into her left arm.

She needed to help Sam. She had also been infected with the werewolf virus. She doubted that she'd be much help to him if she had fangs, fur, and a thirst for blood.

_Chapter Six_

It was nighttime. Sam was walking through the park with Brigitte. Beautiful Brigitte.

When he wasn't sneaking secret glances at Brigitte, Sam looked around at the children's' play equipment in the park. A merry-go-round. Swings. A couple of horses that rocked back and forth.

"Let's get this done," Sam said. In the back of his mind, he wasn't sure what needed to be done.

"OK," said Brigitte, looking as though she'd rather be anywhere but at the park.

They soon came across the remains of a Rottweiler. It had been eviscerated by the Beast of Bailey Downs.

For some reason, Sam was fascinated rather than disgusted by this sight.

No, fascinated wasn't the right word.

For some reason, it gave Sam an appetite.

He leaned down to examine the dog's remains. Suddenly, he felt a sharp pain in his stomach, as though he'd been slashed with an invisible knife.

Holding his stomach, Sam straightened up. Brigitte's eyes widened with shock when Sam, looking at her, his own eyes wide, took his hand away from his stomach.

Blood covered his hand. It started to stain his shirt.

"Oh, my God," Brigitte whispered, scared. "It's happening again."

"Whaddaya mean?" Sam asked, frightened.

Without answering, Brigitte turned away, staring into the darkness as though she was looking for something. Sam watched her with curiosity.

Suddenly, Sam was knocked to the ground with a tremendous force, so suddenly he didn't have time to cry out.

The thing that tackled him began to drag him off by his ankle, towards the woods surrounding the park. Sam tried to scream, but no sound came out.

_Oh, God. _Sam thought. _Not again._

It was happening again. Another werewolf, identical to the one Ginger had been, had attacked him. He wasn't going to get out of this one. This was it. He was going to die.

As Sam hoarsely screamed, the werewolf clawed and bit at him. He could feel his flesh rip and the blood flow, but oddly couldn't feel any pain.

As he vainly tried to push the immense creature off of him, Brigitte miraculously appeared. As she tried to help him, her new camera went off, briefly blinding the werewolf.

Brigitte pulled Sam to his feet and they shakily ran off, heading for the main road. Sam could hear the growling of the werewolf as it chased them.

Near the road, Brigitte, holding his hand, ran ahead of Sam, leading him back her house.

In the middle of the road, Sam stumbled and fell to the ground. Brigitte lost her balance and landed on the grass by the side of the road.

Panting, Sam didn't see the yellow van heading towards him. He looked up.

Through the blinding headlights, he saw the driver of the van.

It was Ginger Fitzgerald, Brigitte's sister. Once again human.

Sam heard Brigitte scream in terror. The van was just feet in front of him, with no intention of stopping……

Sam awoke with a start, drenched in sweat, his heart racing.

Panting, he tried to shake the dream from his memory. But it had seemed so real.

Shaking, Sam looked at the clock by his bed. It was five in the morning.

He laid back down and tried to get some more sleep. But sleep wouldn't come. He was haunted by the murderous look on Ginger's face just before the van hit him.

With difficulty, Sam, rubbing his eyes with his good hand, climbed out of bed and went into the greenhouse. There on the table were the stems of monkshood Sam had managed to swipe from the Fitzgeralds' house.

The thought of the werewolf infection came rushing back to him. He dashed into the bathroom and checked his appearance for fangs, white hair, anything.

Nothing.

Sam sighed with relief. Nothing unusual had happened to his body. This gave him time to make the antidote.

_Chapter Seven_

Waking as soon as the sun came up, Sam could tell something was different. His broken arm felt strange.

Sitting up in bed, Sam looked his cast over. Nothing unusual. He tried to wiggle his fingers, and to his great surprise, realized he could do it.

Frowning, Sam pulled the sling over his head and took it off. He stretched his arm fully out in front of him, something he hadn't been able to since Ginger had broken it.

His arm felt completely fine. Was it healed?

Taking a knife from the table beside his bed, Sam very gently cut through the cast until it came off.

Sam stretched his arm in front of him, rotated his hand, and wiggled his fingers. He could do it all without any pain.

The arm _was _healed.

_But that's impossible,_ Sam thought.

He then remembered something he had read when reading up on werewolves: The werewolf has incredible healing powers. A wound or injury they sustain can heal itself within days or even hours.

Sam dashed into the bathroom and looked into the mirror.

His skin was completely healed over.

"Oh my God," said Sam, shocked.

He had been severely bitten and scratched by the Ginger-wolf. There should've bad scarring.

There was no scarring. Not on his face, chest, arms, or legs.

With a jolt, Sam remembered that Brigitte had told him that the scratches Ginger had gotten from the wolf had been almost as bad as his, and they had stopped bleeding just minutes after the attack, and had vanished within days.

Realizing what this meant, Sam felt a sliver of fear.

_This is NOT_ _happening! _Sam told himself.

He knew that it was time to make the cure. These symptoms were just the beginning. Soon, he'd have fangs and that blood lust.

As he turned away from the mirror, he noticed one other strange thing. Carefully parting his brown hair, Sam peered at the reflection of his scalp.

Right in the center of his scalp was a silvery-white hair. Just like the hair Ginger developed during the werewolf change.

At the sight of the white hair, Sam bolted into the greenhouse. He quickly gathered supplies: rubbing alcohol, a candle, some cotton, a small tin cup, a grinding tool, a clear plastic syringe, a stem of monkshood.

The necessary ingredients to make the cure for lycanthropy.

Sitting down at his long wooden table, Sam pulled the purple buds off of the stem and proceeded to grind them up. He poured the ground buds into the tin cup, and poured a cupful of the alcohol over the buds.

Pulling out his lighter, Sam lit the candle and positioned the tin cup directly over the flame. He watched as the alcohol slowly began to bubble. The alcohol then turned a deep purple as the amount of bubbles increased.

Sam then pulled the tin cup off of the flame and tossed a piece of cotton inside. The cotton started to soak the liquid up. As soon as the cotton was soggy with the alcohol, Sam picked up the syringe, put the needle into the cotton, and sucked the antidote up into the syringe, to about the halfway point.

Using his thumb and forefinger, he tapped on the syringe until all of the air bubbles inside were gone. He pushed the plunger on the syringe, and watched as some of the purple liquid shot into the air.

After he was done, Sam stared at the syringe, studying the dark purple liquid inside.

This was it. In his hands, he held the cure for being a werewolf.

When he had made it with Brigitte a few days before, he had felt like a scientist making a huge discovery. He felt that same way now.

Closing his eyes, Sam stuck the needle into his left arm and pushed the plunger down. He felt the antidote empty into his arm.

When the syringe was empty, he pulled the needle out of his arm and waited for something to happen.

Nothing did.

The only thing he felt was immense relief.

_I'm cured,_ Sam thought. _This nightmare can end. I can put the whole thing past me and get on with my life._

Feeling lighter than he had in days, Sam gathered up his tools, put them away, and got dressed. Whistling, Sam went back into the greenhouse and started to pick up the remnants of the Halloween party.

_Chapter Eight_

That night, Sam stepped out into the night and went for a walk, feeling lighter than he had in days.

It was a beautiful starry night. No threat hovered over the town. He wasn't going to turn into a bloodthirsty animal.

He had talked to Brigitte that day. Her mother had left town, but Brigitte was going to hang around to make sure that Sam really was all right. When she had left the greenhouse, she had given him a warm smile, and he had nearly melted.

As Sam walked, a craving came over him. Sam knew this craving well, and so lit a cigarette, not his own weed like he used to. Colliding with a werewolf had taught Sam to only smoke pot in his greenhouse.

As Sam walked, a dog began to bark from somewhere. Curious about the dog for some reason, Sam followed the sound, and soon found himself in a yard not far from where Brigitte had lived with her family.

The barking dog was small, a terrier of some kind. As soon as Sam came into view, the dog stopped barking. Turning to Sam, the dog began to growl, its hackles raised.

Sam frowned, unable to understand why this dog was growling at him. Dogs liked him, and he knew that the only vicious dog for miles was a Rottweiler that had been owned by Trina Sinclair.

Sam stepped closer to the terrier, wanting to show it that he was harmless. He stretched out a hand for the dog to sniff. The dog growled louder and snapped at Sam's hand, drawing blood.

"Fuck!" Sam cried out, pulling his hand away.

Something then came over Sam, a feeling he had never had before. It was rage, anger, an urge to protect himself.

Without realizing what he doing, Sam struck. He grabbed the dog and broke its neck with one clean snap.

Sam woke up hours later. The dream of him killing the dog had been so real.

He could feel the anger going through him.

He could feel the dog's neck crack when he broke it.

He could taste the dog's blood as he tore it to shreds.

Shaken, Sam got up to get a drink of water. The taste of blood in his mouth was so realistic.

Holding his cup of water, Sam went outside to get some fresh air. Sipping the water, he sat in front of the greenhouse and watched as the sun rose.

Something red on the grass caught his eye. What was it?

He got up and went over to it. To his horror, it looked like blood.

Sam looked over to the left. What he saw lying there in the grass made his stomach roil.

It was the remains of the terrier. The dog had been eviscerated.

It was no dream. Sam really had killed a dog with his bare hands.

Sickened with disgust and the horror of realizing what he had done, Sam scrambled into the greenhouse, hurled himself into the bathroom, and vomited.

Sam sat by the toilet, shaking and sweating, his eyes closed. The sight of the dead dog kept coming back to him, making him retch.

Sam shakily stood up, and looked into the mirror. His face was pale, and was drenched in sweat.

_What the hell is happening to me?_ Sam thought. This didn't make any sense at all.

_I cured myself. The monkshood worked. I should be fine._

_I'm not fine. I'm not fine at all._

_Chapter Nine_

Several weeks passed, and Brigitte hadn't seen or heard any sign of Sam. All was normal except some posters for a missing dog that had lived down the street from her.

She decided to visit Sam. If he was OK, if he was himself, she would consider leaving town. There was nothing for her there, and the werewolf threat would have passed.

She walked to the greenhouse, looking forward to seeing Sam. She was beginning to have deep feelings for him, something that she thought would never happen. She was always very shy around boys.

Sam was different.

Brigitte got her first shock when she opened the greenhouse door.

The place was trashed.

Clay flowerpots lay broken on the floor. Large bags of soil lay on the floor, the soil seeping out of the burst-open bags. Many plants were dying, looking as though they hadn't been watered in weeks.

This wasn't at all like Sam. He took such good care of his plants, and kept the greenhouse looking decent. Had something possibly happened to him?

Reluctantly, Brigitte stepped around the debris littering the floor, making her way towards Sam's bedroom. She peered through a window, and relief washed over her.

Sam was standing with his back to her, hunched over a table. Monkshood stems, empty syringes and empty bottles of alcohol littered the table.

Wondering what was going on, Brigitte silently opened the door and stepped into the room. Sam didn't notice her.

What Brigitte heard next made her heart stand still.

It was the sound of sniffling.

Sam was crying.

_Sam, crying? No fucking way. Sam's always been tough, not letting anyone or anything get in his way. He's always done things his own way and not cared what others thought._

Aching with sympathy, Brigitte stepped up behind Sam and gently placed a hand on his shoulder.

Suddenly, he grabbed her hand with his own. Looking down at it, Brigitte screamed.

Sam's fingernails had turned into thick, ugly, yellow claws, just like the ones Ginger had grown during her transformation.

Eyes wide with horror, Brigitte took a step back, trying to break free from his grip, but the grip only tightened.

Sam then turned around and looked at Brigitte. When she saw his face, she let out a strangled yell.

Sam's brown eyes had turned a brownish-orange. His brown hair was streaked with white. His front canines had turned into sharp fangs. His face was tear-stained.

"Oh my God," Brigitte said, horror-struck. "Oh my _God_ "

Sniffling, Sam let out a bitter laugh. " 'Oh my God'?" he said. "Is that all you can say? Just 'Oh my God'?"

"Sam, what….how did…..what _happened_?" Brigitte stammered.

Instead of answering her question, Sam sat down on his bed and buried his face in his hands. He looked more defeated than Brigitte had ever seen him.

"The last two weeks," Sam muttered. "I've tried everything……_everything_……I could think of. Nothing works. No matter how large the dose, the symptoms get worse."

Sam looked up at Brigitte, his eyes full of tears. "So I guess the cherryhound finally gets what he deserves."

"No," Brigitte said firmly. "You don't deserve this any more than Ginger did." She sat down next to him and looked directly into his eyes. "I'm going to help you with this. We'll do something."

Instead of looking reassured and calm, Sam looked alarmed and angry. He quickly jumped up away from her as though she would catch the virus from just sitting next to him.

"Brigitte, you have no fucking idea what I've done, what I've gone through," Sam said. "I fucking killed a dog. I ripped it to shreds without even thinking about it. Every day that blood lust gets stronger. I stay awake every night so I can control myself and not kill some poor helpless dog, or worse, a person."

At that, Brigitte looked up, alarmed. "Have you killed….?" she asked, scared to hear the answer.

"Of course not, thank God," Sam said. "But every single fucking night it gets worse. I have the strongest urge to go out and maim the first person I come across. I just crave to rip living things to shreds."

Brigitte nodded. Ginger had said something similar to her. "That's what Ginger told me."

"Yes, but unlike Ginger, I don't want to hurt anyone." Sam said. "The idea of killing a person scares the hell out of me. What if I kill one of the teenagers who buy off me? What if I hurt some poor kid? What if I hurt……you?"

"You won't." Brigitte assured him.

"But I _could_," Sam said. "Brigitte, I don't think you should come and see me anymore. I'm just becoming too dangerous. Forget about me. You should just leave and go live with your mother." This had been hard for Sam to say. He didn't want to lose the only true friend he'd had. But Brigitte couldn't risk her safety by coming to see him.

"Sam, I am not going anywhere until I know you'll be all right," Brigitte said firmly. "You can't deal with this yourself. I'm going to help you." Brigitte gently took his hand into hers and smiled at him. "We'll cure you. I promise you that."

Sam looked away, biting his bottom lip in worry. He cried out, and Brigitte could see that he'd cut his lip with one of his sharp teeth. He put one finger to the small cut and brought it away. When he saw the blood on his finger, Sam closed his eyes with frustration and began to cry.

"I don't want to be a werewolf," Sam said through his tears. "I had plans. I planned to get out of this town, open a bigger greenhouse, have a better life than this shitty existence. But now I won't be able to do that because I'll either be dead or in jail for horribly killing tons of people and I won't be able to-"

Brigitte cut him off by leaning over and kissing him on the mouth. It was the most impulsive thing she had ever done.

It also served its purpose. Sam stopped talking and looked at her in amazement. Brigitte looked back at him with wide eyes.

"Sam, I'm sorry-" Brigitte began.

She didn't get to finish. With a longing sigh, Sam took her into his arms and kissed her hard. Brigitte didn't break away, but eagerly returned the kiss. During the kiss, Sam remembered the dream he'd had in Brigitte's basement.

_My dream is coming true, _Sam thought happily. _I'm alone with Brigitte and kissing her._

He wanted this. No, he _needed _this. Not just to calm him down, to take his mind off of his most pressing problem, but also because he wanted to be with the only girl he'd ever really cared about.

He had been with so many girls. They, Trina Sinclair among them, were just booty calls, stupid pieces of ass he'd kept around whenever he had an itch he needed scratched.

Brigitte was different. She wasn't like any of those girls. She was fiery. She had a temper. She was brave and thought about others before thinking of herself.

She was someone he could relate to. Someone who understood him.

They broke off the kiss and looked into each other's eyes. Brigitte smiled at him, a smile identical to the happy one she'd had in his dream. Sam melted.

It was at that moment that Sam realized he loved Brigitte.

Sam kissed her again, and carefully removed her jacket. He was afraid she would protest, as she had never been with a guy before, but she didn't. Instead, she unzipped his hoodie jacket, slid it off him, and let it fall to the ground. As they kissed, completely wrapped up in each other, they lowered themselves onto Sam's bed.

Sam broke out of the kiss and began to kiss down her throat and onto her chest, just above her breasts. He looked up at her and saw that her eyes were shut tight.

"We don't have to do this," he whispered. "if you don't want to."

"No," Brigitte whispered. "Keep going."

With a happy smile, Sam continued to kiss her throat. He slid his hands under Brigitte's shirt and bra and began to fondle her breasts. He heard her give a small sigh of pleasure and happiness. Sam then pulled Brigitte's black shirt up over her head and tossed it to the floor. Brigitte sat up and pulled off Sam's gray T-shirt, so that he was shirtless. She very gently ran her hands over his chest, caressing the light scars Ginger's attack had left on his body.

Sam kissed down Brigitte's throat, slid one of her bra straps down, and kissed her shoulder. He then brought his hands to her back and undid the bra, letting it fall. There she sat, breasts exposed to him, breasts that had never seen any sight other than her bedroom, and she did not run away. Sam then realized just how much she trusted him.

Smiling, Sam laid her back down onto the bed and began to kiss her breasts, making his way down her stomach, pulling off her black skirt as she undid his jeans.

It was now that Brigitte tensed up. She was now clothed in only her underwear and was a little nervous about what she knew would come next. To calm her, Sam made his way back up to her mouth as she pulled off his jeans.

As he kissed her, Sam gently slid his hand underneath her underwear and gently began to stimulate her. He looked up into her face and saw nothing but pleasure in it. When he felt her body stiffen and heard her pleasured moan, he knew that he had done what he needed to do in order to relax her.

"My turn," she said with a mischievous smile.

Brigitte then climbed on top of Sam and pulled his jeans off completely, leaving him completely exposed. With a nervous smile, she went down on him. It was clear to Sam that Brigitte had no experience in the oral sex area, but it didn't matter. He got off to it all the same.

"We're not done yet," Sam said, panting with pleasure.

Kissing her, he laid her back onto the bed and removed her underwear. This time, she gave no sign of discomfort or protest. Looking deep into Brigitte's eyes, Sam entered her. He saw her make a small face of discomfort, but she stayed where she was. As he moved inside her, Sam kissed her, running his hands gently along her bare skin. Brigitte ran her hands along his muscular upper arms, over his shoulders, and down his backside. Just as Sam came inside her, he felt her body stiffen, saw her eyes close, and heard her give a deep moan of pleasure. Having got off, Brigitte smiled up at him.

"Thank you," she murmured.

"I love you, Brigitte," Sam whispered as he kissed his way passed her breasts and down to her crotch.

"I love you, too," Brigitte replied, her eyes closed with pleasure as Sam worked his magic with his tongue.

_It's true, _Brigitte thought. _I really do love Sam._

Later, they fell asleep in Sam's bed, wrapped up in each other's arms, a happy smile on each face.

_Chapter Ten_

Sam was walking down the hall of Bailey Downs High School.

He'd been called to the guidance counselor's office.

This didn't make any sense to Sam, as he hadn't gone to high school since he dropped out in his junior year.

He went anyway, feeling as though he needed to, as though some voice was telling him to go there.

Reaching the office of the guidance counselor, Sam put a hand on the doorknob, turned it, and stepped inside the room.

The room was plastered with certificates and awards the counselor had won. The place had that stupid welcoming atmosphere, an atmosphere that had the intention of making the students who went there more comfortable, but only made the troubled teens more uncomfortable.

The counselor behind the desk was a nerdy, stern-looking sap who had probably only gotten laid maybe once or twice in his lifetime. He wasn't the counselor Sam had had when he attended the high school, but Sam instantly hated him anyway. He wasn't sure why he hated this guy with a scary passion, he just did.

"Hello, Sam," the counselor said. He gestured for Sam to sit down in one of the hard plastic chairs. "Have a seat."

Sam sat, frowning, wanting to know what was going on. The counselor startled him when he looked directly, seriously, into Sam's eyes.

"Sam, we've been concerned about the disappearance of Trina Sinclair. According to Ginger Fitzgerald, you and her sister, Brigitte, were the last ones to have seen her."

"Yeah, that's true. Brigitte and I saw her just the other day."

"Have you any idea where the girl has gone?"

"_I_ don't, and I know Brigitte doesn't either."

The counselor sighed at this lack of information. "Sam," he said gravely. "I didn't want to bring this up just now, but I've some disturbing things from other students about the two of you. I've heard that Brigitte kept scratching you until you bled, that she would deliberately hurt you just to hear you scream. Now, this kind of behavior makes it obvious that Brigitte has done something to Trina." He stood up and looked down at Sam. "I won't have you protecting her or defending her. She's done something terrible and needs to be punished for it"

The counselor, looking grim, picked up the phone.

"What are you doing?" asked Sam, alarmed.

"I'm calling her parents, and we're going to discuss what is to be done. This girl needs to be locked away where she can't hurt anyone else."

He started to dial the Fitzgeralds' number.

Hot anger bubbled up inside Sam. He knew that Trina's death had been an accident, and that both Brigitte and Ginger had had a part in it, but he'd be damned if Brigitte was going to jail for something her sister had started. His brown eyes flashing, Sam grabbed the counselor's wrist and yanked the phone out of his hand.

"Young man, what are you doing?" the counselor asked angrily.

Sam threw the phone against the floor, where it busted into pieces. He then looked up into the counselor's eyes. The counselor looked shocked at the blazing anger inside them.

"You are _not_ hurting Brigitte," Sam spat.

"Samuel, you do not have a say in what happens to Brigitte Fitzgerald," the counselor said angrily. The anger quickly turned into shocked with Sam grabbed him by the front of his white sweatshirt.

"Wanna bet, you fucking asshole?" Sam sneered.

He threw the counselor up against the desk. He cried out in pain as papers and things slid off of the desk and clattered to the floor. Sam came around to the back of the desk and pulled the terrified counselor to his feet. With a cry, Sam clawed him across the face, leaving four bleeding scratch marks. With a cry of pain, the counselor touched his bleeding cheek.

"Are you _insane_?" the counselor asked, petrified.

Sam pulled him upwards so that they were looking directly into each other's eyes.

"You have no idea," Sam sneered.

The desire to hurt the counselor came to Sam then, and he gave in to it. He clawed the screaming man across the throat, the face, the scalp, the chest, the arms. He threw the counselor against the walls as the man begged for mercy. Sam heard none of the man's pleas.

As a final touch, Sam, with an animalistic roar, leaned down and ripped out the man's throat. The counselor cried out as Sam bit him, shuddered and died. Sam savored the taste of human flesh and blood as he threw the counselor back into his chair. The dead counselor dropped forward onto the bloody desk, resting as though taking a short break from work. His dead eyes stared straight ahead.

Sam, covered with the counselor's blood, panted. He looked around at the office. Blood was splattered across the walls and floor.

Sam then caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror on the wall.

His face was covered in blood. Human blood.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

Sam then woke up, panting and sweating. Brigitte, brought out of a deep sleep, was lying next to him, looking petrified.

"Sam? What's wrong?"

He couldn't answer her. He couldn't get the image of the mauled counselor and his blood-covered face out of his mind. Feeling sick, he rolled over and vomited over the side of the bed.

"Sam? Are you all right?" Brigitte asked, scared.

Sam, willing himself not to throw up again, got out of bed and stood in the middle of the room, sweating and shivering. He heard the bed creak as Brigitte got out of the bed. She came over to him and wrapped a blanket around the two of them. Taking Sam's hands, Brigitte looked up at him.

"Sam, what happened?" she asked him.

"Oh my God, Brigitte," he panted. "I killed him……my worst fear……"

"What?" Brigitte asked. "Killed who?"

"Your guidance counselor," Sam said shakily. "In my dream……I killed him……like Ginger did……" He retched again, but nothing came up.

"Sam, it was just a dream," Brigitte said soothingly.

"No, Brigitte!" Sam said angrily. "I've had dreams like this before. They felt so real……"

"Dreams like what?" Brigitte asked gently.

"I dreamed that I was attacked by a werewolf in the playground, and Ginger ran me over with my van. Another, I dreamed that I got into a fight with another guy during a gym class. And now this one….." Sam shuddered. "The dreams all feel so real. I could taste the counselor's blood, I could feel the werewolf scratching me, I felt the anger whenever someone tried to hurt you."

Sam shivered and tugged the blanket tighter around him, and they sat down on the bed. Brigitte rested her head against Sam's shoulder, frowning, deep in thought. She then looked up at him.

"Sam, I'm going to look into this," she told him. "I'm going to do whatever I can to help you. If I couldn't save Ginger, I want to at least save you."

_Chapter Eleven_

A few days later, Brigitte sat in the middle of the Bailey Downs Public Library, a place she rarely went to, as it was common knowledge that only geeks and bookworms visited the library.

Placed in stacks around her were at least a dozen books on werewolves and lycanthropy. She had gone through these same texts during Ginger's transformation, but she was reading through them again, hoping to find a clue about why Sam was changing despite the injections he'd given himself, and why he suddenly had access to Ginger's memories of things that happened after her attack.

The librarian then came into the room with an armful of books to return to the shelves. After putting them back, she passed Brigitte, stopping only when she noticed the titles of some of her books.

"_The Science of Werewolves_?" she asked. "_A Theory on Lycanthropy_? Someone you know turning into a werewolf?"

She asked this teasingly, but went quiet when Brigitte glared at her, scowling.

"No," she said. "I'm just into werewolves, that's all." She paused. "Wait. How do you know about lycanthropy? Or even what the word means?"

"In college, I was obsessed with werewolves," the librarian said. "The idea of a man turning into a wolf just intrigued me. I wrote a term paper on lycanthropes and even tried to see if the virus existed."

"Any luck?" Brigitte asked.

"Nope," the librarian said. "The virus, if it could be called that, is simply a myth."

With that, the librarian walked out of the room.

Brigitte was left alone, fuming. She knew that the virus existed. Her best friend had lost her life to it, and another friend was slowly going nuts over it.

Shaking her head, Brigitte returned to the paragraph she was perusing through in the fat volume on werewolves from the _Mythical Monsters and Their Basis In Fact _encyclopedia She was looking for "cure", "memories", anything.

Getting frustrated at the lack of information, Brigitte flipped to the index in the back of the book.

There, she saw words like "silver", "wolfsbane", and – Brigitte's heart flipped over – "cure".

She quickly flipped to the page where "cure" was said to be, thinking, _Why didn't I think of the index before?_

When she got to the page, she found what she was looking for: an entire section on believed cures for lycanthropy.

She saw several complicated-sounding cures containing chemicals that she'd never even heard of. The monkshood cure was listed there, but Brigitte read that the dosage would have to be the exact right amount to fully work, and even then, all it did was stop the victim from physically becoming the wolf and craving blood. It did nothing to cure the aggressiveness.

Brigitte's heart sank. It was unlikely that they would be able find the exact right dose for Sam. Jason's cure had been a lucky chance. What worried Brigitte more was that monkshood was no longer available to them. She'd given her mother's supply to Sam, and that was almost gone from his repeated attempts to cure himself. Monkshood grew only in the springtime, and winter had yet to begin. Sam could be done with the transformation by the time they would be able to get more.

_Sam's screwed. _Brigitte thought. _I'm screwed._

Just as she was about to close the book, she saw noticed the word "silver" mentioned in the list of fabled cures. Reading the particular passage, Brigitte felt hope return. If it worked, Sam would be a werewolf, but be able to lead a normal life.

"_Many scientists believe that silver may have a positive effect on the lycanthrope, rather than, as myths and legends tell us, a negative one. When taken in small amounts along with the monkshood remedy, scientists and folklorists believe the silver will affect the victim's mind in a positive way during the transformation, allowing him or her to keep his sense of self during the times of the full moon."_

Silver. A small amount of silver was the answer to Sam's problem. Not the answer he was looking for, but it was the best she could come up with.

"Explain it to me again," Sam said for the third time.

Brigitte sat on a hard chair in the greenhouse, holding the library book open in her lap.

"Basically, what it means is that if you take some silver along with the monkshood before every full moon, you'll be yourself during your transformation. No blood lust, no aggressiveness, no urge to kill."

"And I'm supposed to like this?" Sam asked in shock.

"Not necessarily like it," Brigitte said. "But accept it. This is the best we can do."

Sam stared her with wide eyes. He had been expecting something different, something that would calm his nerves, make his less terrified. He didn't feel at all calmed by Brigitte's idea. If anything, his fear intensified.

"So you're saying there's no cure?" Sam asked.

"I'm not saying that," Brigitte said. "Sam, I looked into the monkshood cure. For it to work, it would have to be the exact right amount. Jason was lucky we had the right amount for him. We don't have enough of the monkshood left to fuck around with. If this silver thing's true, we have enough for you to take with silver to control the transformations until we get enough to really experiment with. Besides, time's running out. A few more weeks, and you'll be a permanent werewolf."

Sam sat beside Brigitte, his head in his hands. He pondered his situation.

Brigitte was right. They had only a few stems of monkshood left. One stem would make at least four syringes of the antidote. With about four stems left, that would give Sam enough for sixteen injections, not even close enough to get Sam to control the transformation throughout winter. Those few stems were precious, and they could not afford to fuck around with them. Monkshood wouldn't be available to them again till springtime, April or May. At the moment it was the middle of November,

"So you're saying that me taking the monkshood's all bullshit? That I'm becoming a monster no matter how much I use?" Sam asked worriedly, a bit of the old toughness back in his voice.

"That's where the silver comes in. The silver, when taken with an injection of monkshood, helps you keep your sanity during a transformation. When you're a wolf, you'll know who you are and recognize your surroundings."

"When Ginger became a wolf, she knew who she was and who we were, and look at what happened," Sam glumly pointed out.

"The silver will take away the aggression, the werewolf's instinct to kill. You'll be you, just in werewolf form until morning."

"Morning?" Sam asked incredulously. "Since when did the full moon have anything to do with this?"

"I read that plenty of things can spur the transformation," Brigitte explained. "Emotions and the full moon are the biggest things."

"Ginger's spur was her emotions," Sam realized.

"Right," Brigitte said. "All we have to do is keep you on the monkshood and silver until springs. After that we can focus on finding the right amount to completely cure you."

Sam thought about it. There was no other option. They would have to go with Brigitte's plan until they could get more monkshood. It was a terrifying thought, becoming something completely else, but Sam would do it. As long as Brigitte was with him, he would do it. He didn't think he'd be able to go through with the plan without her.

"All right," Sam said. "We'll have to go for it. But there's one problem."

"What?" Brigitte asked worriedly.

"Silver doesn't stay in liquid form. Sure, we could melt silver, but I don't think that would help if it doesn't stay melted."

Brigitte thought about that. Then she realized what they could use: silver nitrate. It was the chemical equivalent to silver.

"We could swipe silver nitrate from the chem lab in the hospital," Brigitte said. "They use it in hospitals all the time."

Brigitte stood up and began to pace. An idea began forming in her head.

"Tonight meet me at my old house. At about midnight. You make a syringe of the cure, bring it to the house, and I'll go to the hospital and swipe some silver nitrate. We'll add it to the monkshood, inject you, and see what happens."

"How are you gonna get the silver nitrate?" Sam asked curiously. "I mean, people can't just walk into a hospital lab."

Brigitte smiled. Sam loved that smile. It was one that told him that Brigitte had something daring in mind.

"Don't worry," she said. "Just make the cure and bring it to my house at midnight. Wait for me outside. I'll take care of the rest."

Sam looked up at her and smiled, shaking his head.

"What?" Brigitte asked, smiling.

"Nothing," he said. "I was just thinking of how it used to be that _I_ came up with ideas and _you_ tried them. Now the roles are reversed. You're coming up with ideas to save me."

Sam stood up, wrapped his arms around her, and kissed the top of her head.

"Thanks, Brigitte," he said.

"For what?" she asked.

"Everything," he said. "Your ideas, your friendship. I really don't know what I'd do without you."

"Hey, you helped me before. You risked your own life to try to save _my_ sister. I owe you big."

Brigitte, smiling up at Sam, wrapped her arms around Sam's neck and looked into his brown eyes.

"Besides," Brigitte said. "I kinda like you."

Smiling, Sam bent down and kissed her. God, she meant so much to him.

When the kiss ended, Brigitte looked into his eyes.

"Meet me tonight," she said, breaking away from him. "I promise you, nothing bad will happen. After tonight, everything will be much better."

With that, she left. Sam sat down and began to make the antidote once again, hoping to God that Brigitte was right.

_Chapter Twelve_

It was midnight. Sam stood in front of the Fitzgeralds' house, waiting for Brigitte.

He had the syringe of monkshood in one clawed hand.

When he had gotten to the Fitzgeralds' house, he peered into the windows. Brigitte's mother, who had split off to the United States, waiting for Brigitte to join her, had emptied the house.

Sam pulled a cigarette out of his pocket, lit it, and took a drag. He exhaled the smoke through his nose, letting the nicotine calm him down. It didn't work as effectively as Brigitte's kiss had, but it would do in a pinch.

Sam was very wary about Brigitte's idea. He hadn't read anything about silver treating the virus, only that silver could be used to weaken or kill the werewolf. Still, he trusted Brigitte one hundred percent, and felt that in the event the idea didn't pan out, he would be no worse off than he was before.

"Sam! The man!"

A familiar voice filled Sam's ears. Sam turned around and saw Jason, a blonde, cocky high school jock, practically bouncing towards him.

Jason was one of the many teenagers who had bought pot off of him. He had also been Ginger's boyfriend and had been infected with the werewolf virus. He had been lucky enough to have been cured by Brigitte on Halloween.

Sam had never liked him. He was just too stupid for Sam's taste. However, he nodded hello.

"What's been up with you, man?" Jason asked. "I haven't seen you for, like, a month."

"Been busy," was Sam's reply.

"Hey, you got any on you? I've wired and need a smoke."

"Sorry, man," Sam said absently. "Got nothing on me."

Jason looked disappointed. Sam handed Jason one of his regular cigarettes. Together, the guys stood on the sidewalk, smoking.

"What've you been up to?" Sam asked.

"A buncha bullshit." Jason said, irritated. "First the crazy thing after screwing Ginger Fitzgerald. I mean, that was some STD that bitch gave me. Pissing blood, fangs for teeth. I killed my dog for Christ sake! Man, my sisters shit bricks when they saw him dead in our yard."

"Uh-huh," Sam said, absently, keeping an eye out for Brigitte.

"And then that thing with Trina Sinclair. Did you hear that the police think that both the Fitz sisters had something to do with it?"

At this, something began to grow inside of Sam. He didn't like the feeling

"Really? Both of them?" Sam asked.

"Yeah," Jason. "I bet they did it. I haven't seen either chick since your party on Halloween. Goddamn, I hope Ginger's gone. My mom thinks that I got her pregnant 'cause she was acting really weird after I screwed her."

_Yeah, _Sam thought sarcastically. _Yeah, dude. That's why Ginger was acting so weird_

_That's why she hurt Brigitte and nearly tore me to shreds. She was pregnant. _

_Dumbass._

"So, Sam, what're you up to, man?" Jason asked. "You waiting for someone?"

"Yeah, I'm waiting for Brigitte." Sam said. The growing feeling was intensifying. It was though someone had lit a fire underneath him and he was about to burst.

"Fitzgerald?" Jason asked incredulously. "You screwing Fitzgerald?"

"Is that your business?" Sam asked coldly.

Jason continued to speak as though Sam hadn't spoken. " 'Cause, man, if you are, you need help. Everyone knows the Fitzes are fucked up. Trust me, man. I been there."

The thing that Sam now knew as rage continued to bubble up inside him.

"Ginger's so easy, I boned her our first date, " Jason went on, oblivious to Sam's reddening face. "I wouldn't say no to fucking Brigitte either. Girl like her needs some badly. She's such a prude. All high and mighty. I heard that the Fitzes were closer that just being sisters, _if you know what I mean_. God, I'd love to see some of that action. But, in all honesty, the bitch needs someone to smack her around. Bring her down a peg or two."

Sam snapped. He couldn't stand it, standing here, listening to this dumbass motherfucker put down Brigitte, the one person who saw past the stereotype he lived under and saw him for the person he wanted people to know. A person who was smart, and did not dope himself up twenty-four hours a day.

Sam glared at Jason, his brown eyes narrowed. Jason looked back at him, startled.

"Sam? Man, are you all right?" Jason asked uncertainly.

To both their surprise- Sam's especially -, when he replied, his voice was nothing more than a growl.

"Shut up about Brigitte," Sam growled. To his amazement, an animal-like growl came from his throat. Jason looked petrified.

"Look, Sam, I'm sorry-"

Sam heard no more. His eyes locked on Jason, Sam felt himself change.

The fangs in his mouth lengthened and sharpened.

He felt his clothes tear as his body swelled.

His vision became clearer and his sense of smell became sharper.

He could smell the fearful sweat on Jason as the stoner stared at Sam, wide-eyed. He could smell the sharp stench of urine as a wet spot appeared on the front of Jason's khaki pants. When Jason, recovering long enough to move, ran off down the street, his footfalls were like a loud pounding in his ears. The sweet smell of blood went through Sam's nose as the hot blood pumped through Jason as he ran.

The urge to give chase hit Sam and he gave into it. He sprinted after Jason.

As he ran after Jason, he forgot about the silver nitrate, Brigitte, and the fact that she was on her way to him. He even forgot his own name.

He lost all sense of self as the wolf took possession of his body.

Jason had threatened him, and Sam's instincts took over.

Nobody heard Jason's terrified screams or the Sam-wolf's roars as predator chased prey through the town.

Nobody but Brigitte.

_Chapter Thirteen_

Brigitte was on her to Bailey Downs Medical Center when it had begun to snow.

Now, with the silver nitrate vial in one hand, she noticed that the snowfall had become thicker as she walked to her old house.

Getting the silver nitrate had been a breeze. She had asked a doctor for a vial of it, saying that she needed it for a school project.

The doctor had given it to her, looking at her suspiciously.

Remembering the look, Brigitte thought that it wouldn't be so easy getting the silver nitrate for Sam next time if it worked.

_If_ it worked.

She brushed that worry off. She'd cross that bridge when she came to it. Right now, they had to control Sam's transformation.

Everything would be all right if Sam took the silver nitrate with the monkshood. Nobody else would die.

Just then, Brigitte heard a scream. It sounded like a guy's.

"Sam?" Brigitte wondered aloud. She began to run to her house.

When she got to the house, Sam wasn't there. She wondered if he had gone looking for her. It _was_ past midnight.

She was about to head for the greenhouse when she looked down at the sidewalk. What she saw made her heart stop.

Shreds of fabric. Prints in the snow, both human and animal. The animal prints looked like that of a large dog. Both sets of prints went off down towards the playground

Brigitte kneeled down by the shreds of fabric and brushed the snow off them.

The fabric patterns looks familiar. Some of the shreds felt like the material of a hoodie, some were of jeans. She even saw the remnants of a pair of black-and-white sneakers.

_This is Sam's stuff,_ Brigitte realized.

_Has he been attacked? Has he……changed?_

This thought scared the hell out of Brigitte. If Sam _had_ changed, people were in danger, her included. He hadn't taken the silver.

Underneath the pile of scraps, she saw the syringe of monkshood Sam had made. Picking it up, she put the needle of the syringe into the vial and pull the plunger up, letting the silver flow into the monkshood. Brigitte watched as a silvery swirl formed in the purple liquid.

Just then, Brigitte heard the scream again. It sounded not so far off, maybe just down the street.

Brigitte stood up, looking down at the human footprints. Odds are, somebody came across Sam just before he changed, and now a full-grown werewolf was chasing them.

Brigitte ran, following the footsteps. She didn't know if she'd be able to save the victim, but she was going to save Sam if it killed her.

She followed the footsteps into the playground. Brigitte's stomach started to flip over when she saw the blood.

A lot of it.

Whoever was screaming was badly hurt.

"Help! Someone help me! Please!"

Hearing the voice (_It's definitely a guy_), Brigitte stopped dead in the middle of the playground. She looked wildly around as the screaming continued, coming from the woods in which Ginger had been attacked.

"Hello?" she called

Brigitte heard a grunt behind her.

"_Fitz!!!" _someone yelled.

Startled, Brigitte whirled around. She saw Jason lying face down in the snow, right at the edge of the woods.

Oh, he looked horrible. There were deep scratches all over his face, back, and legs. Blood poured from the wounds on his face, staining the snow red.

"Jason?" Brigitte asked, shocked. She ran over to him.

"My God, Fitz, help me!" Jason screamed. "It's got me! Something's killing me! Sam-"

Brigitte heard a roar, and Jason screamed and spasmed as something bit down onto his leg.

"Sam?" Brigitte asked breathlessly. "What about Sam?"

"Sam's the _thing!_" Jason screamed. "He-"

Suddenly, Jason let out a blood-curdling scream as he was dragged back into the woods. Brigitte darted after him, but the darkness made it too difficult to make Jason or his attacker out. All Brigitte could do is listen to pained screams and monstrous roars as the thing had its way with Jason. As Brigitte ran through the woods, trying to locate Jason, the screams suddenly stopped, as did the roars.

For a good ten minutes, Brigitte walked through the snowy woods, watching as, with each step, the snow turned redder with blood and gore. As she walked, she kept her ears open, listening for the tiniest sign that Jason was alive or for the location of where his attacker might be.

_Déjà vu, much, Brigitte?_, she thought to herself, remembering the last time she had followed a trail of blood in search of someone.

Her search ended a few minutes later, when she came upon Jason's mutilated body lying in the snow. His throat had been torn open. His stomach had been laid open to the core. Intestines and organs poured out of the opening and into the snow.

Brigitte's stomach cramped. She'd never seen anything this brutal. She fell onto her hand and knees and vomited in the snow.

As she coughed, she noticed that the hairs on the back of her had stood on end. Over her coughing, she heard a low growl. Swallowing hard, Brigitte opened her eyes and slowly peered over her shoulder. What she saw made her scream, but no sound came out of her open mouth.

A full-grown werewolf, a wolf as big as Ginger had been but more deadly looking, stood behind Brigitte, baring its teeth at her. The wolf's fangs were covered in blood, and it roared as Brigitte locked eyes with it.

Swallowing the fear building up inside her, Brigitte slowly stood up, not taking her eyes off the werewolf.

"Sam?" she asked in a terrified voice.

The Sam-wolf roared and walked towards her. Brigitte took several carefully timed steps backwards.

"Sam, it's me," Brigitte said. The wolf came closer, growling. "It's Brigitte. You don't want to hurt me. I've got your cure for you." She held up the syringe. "Right here. It'll make you better. I promise."

The Sam-wolf roared and then pounced, landing on top of Brigitte. She shrieked as the werewolf's suffocating weight pressed down on her, bringing her down into the snow. Shaking with fear, Brigitte closed her eyes as the Sam-wolf leaned down towards her throat. Brigitte could feel the wolf's hot breath on her throat, could tell when the fangs gently grazed her throat.

She then felt the resistance of the muscle in the werewolf's neck when she stabbed the syringe into it. She heard the Sam-wolf whimper as she pushed the plunger down, emptying the silver nitrate/monkshood combination into the werewolf's jugular vein.

Panting, she released the syringe. Empty, it fell from the Sam-wolf's throat and landed in the snow. Brigitte, terrified, looked into the wolf's orange-y eyes as it growled, staring coldly down at her. Brigitte prayed that the nitrate would have some sort of effect soon.

Moments passed. Nothing happened. Brigitte closed her eyes.

_It's over, _she thought. _It didn't work. I'm fucked._

Suddenly, the growling stopped. Brigitte opened her eyes and looked into the Sam-wolf's With a jolt, she realized that the eyes were not orange-y, but brown, like Sam's had been when he was human.

"Sam?" Brigitte asked in a tiny voice.

The Sam-wolf just stared down at her, its eyes wide. The wolf then got off Brigitte and scampered away into darkness of the woods.

Brigitte sat in the snow, watching it go.

_Chapter Fourteen_

Hours seemed to pass until Brigitte finally stood up and followed the Sam-wolf into the woods. She had no idea where he was going, but just followed the footprints.

The prints led her deeper and deeper into the woods. The minutes passed and Brigitte began to feel cold.

"Sam?" she called. "Are you out here? Are you OK? It's me, Brigitte."

No one answered. The woods were silent. With an unhappy sigh, Brigitte turned and began to head back the way she came. She figured Sam might have gone back to the greenhouse, and besides, Jason's body couldn't be left where it was.

Suddenly, a branch behind her snapped. She heard a gasp as she turned around. Peering into the darkness, Brigitte listened. She realizes that the gasp she heard wasn't a gasp. It was a sob.

"Sam?" Brigitte gently called, coming forward. "Are you here?"

The sob became louder as Brigitte came forward. Straight ahead was a snow-covered boulder. Large tracks went behind it. Reaching the boulder, Brigitte carefully climbed on top of it.

"Sam?" she asked, peering over the top.

Behind the boulder, directly underneath her, Sam's handsome face looked back up at her. Startled at the sight of him, Brigitte gasped and slid down next to him.

Sam, shivering, turned away from her. Brigitte, aching with sympathy, put a hand on his trembling shoulder.

"Sam?" Brigitte asked. "Sam, are you OK?"

Sam's entire body shook, a combination of sobs and cold.

"No," Sam said, very quietly. He was crying so hard that Brigitte could barely make his words out. "I'm not OK, Brigitte. I'm not OK at all. Something……is very very wrong with me."

"I know," Brigitte said, taking his hand in hers.

Sam lifted his head and looked into her eyes. Brigitte, in shock, took in the rags he wore, his tear-stained face, his face smeared with Jason's blood.

"I-I-I……killed that kid back there, didn't it?" he asked, biting his lip.

"Yes," Brigitte said quietly. "But you didn't mean to."

"He just kept talking……and talking…...trash about you," Sam said, shivering. "I-I-I……snapped. I couldn't take it. I ch-changed right in front of him. He ran, I followed. He tripped, I caught up with him, pulled him into the woods……and……and……then I……" He shuddered, unable to go on.

Taking deep gulping breaths, he swallowed and said tearfully, "Brigitte, what am I gonna do? I killed someone. They'll……they'll find him soon." He paused, swallowing hard. "What am I supposed to do?"

"Shhh," Brigitte said. "Let's get back to the greenhouse first. Warm up. We'll make a plan then."

"O-O-OK," Sam stuttered.

Brigitte put an arm around Sam and helped him to stand. Together, they walked back to the

greenhouse.

_Chapter Fifteen_

Later, it was about three in the morning.

Sam and Brigitte had been talking for the last hour.

Brigitte had helped Sam back through the woods, past Jason's body, and through the town, taking back roads so they wouldn't be seen by anybody.

When they'd gotten back to the greenhouse, Sam couldn't stop shivering or stuttering, so Brigitte had him sleep for about an hour and a half. By the time he'd woken up, he was calmer, but still in a state of horror, scared beyond belief by what he'd done and scared that soon the police would come across Jason's body.

"Brigitte, what am I gonna do?" Sam asked for the millionth time. "Just sleep it off and hope that the cops think that the kid's death was a tragic accident?"

"No," Brigitte said. She herself hadn't quite gotten over what happened in the woods. "I'm just thankful the nitrate worked."

"I just can't believe what happened," Sam said in disbelief. "I just _changed_. Right in front of him. I killed him without even thinking about it. I almost killed _you_." He buried his face in his hands. "Brigitte, you should have killed me out there. Stabbed me in the heart or something. I hate the thought of how vicious I was. It was just like when Ginger attacked me. Screaming, growling, blood, pain. The guy was screaming for me to let him go, but I didn't. I dragged him away and killed him……without even thinking about it."

He lay down on the bed and closed his eyes, trying to erase the memories of blood, gore, and death. Brigitte sadly looked down at Sam, and then laid down next to him. Resting her head on his chest, Brigitte snuggled up to him, trying to comfort him. Feeling calmer but in no way less guilty, Sam smiled and put an arm around her. Within a few minutes, both of them were fast asleep.

Sam woke up a few hours later.

It had not been a restful sleep. His dreams were punctuated with images of Jason, lying dead in the snow.

Rubbing his eyes, Sam gently sat up, feeling Brigitte next to him. He looked down at her, sleeping soundly. He smiled and got out of bed.

He realized something last night, and he had made a decision about it: he was going to leave town.

He needed answers about the virus. He had questions Brigitte wouldn't be able to answer. Like, why did he have insight into Ginger's memories? Why was he transforming on nights other than the ones of the full moon?

Was there really a solid cure, not just a treatment?

His questions couldn't be answered in Bailey Downs. He would have to set out and find the answers somewhat else. By himself.

Without Brigitte.

As Sam quietly dressed, he looked back down at Brigitte. He'd pack, wake her, let her know what his plan was, and why she couldn't go with him. Then he'd hop in his van and take off, heading for the United States, working in places where his skills as a botanist would pay off in order to support himself.

Very quietly, Sam pulled a duffel bag out of his closet, filled it with clothes, found the stash of money he'd been saving from his pot sales, and stuffed it into his pocket. He also packed the remaining monkshood stems, syringes, alcohol, and cotton pieces. He'd swipe some silver nitrate from hospitals when he could.

Sam was just throwing some packs of cigarettes and a few lighters into the bag when he heard Brigitte stir behind him.

"Sam?" she said groggily. "What are you doing? What's going on?"

Sam turned around, looked down at her, and smiled. He loved her so much and was going to miss her.

"Morning, Brigitte," Sam said. He paused, trying to find the right words to say. "Could you come outside with me? I have to talk to you."

"All right," she said sleepily, rubbing the last of the sleep from her eyes. She then got up and followed Sam outside into the frosty morning air.

"Sam?" Brigitte asked. "What's going on? Where are you going?"

Sam put his duffel into the passenger's seat of his van and looked at her.

"Brigitte," he said. "I've leaving town. I decided to last night. After last night, I can't stay here."

"What?" Brigitte yelped. "I promised you that everything would be all right. You don't have to leave town. We've got the nitrate and enough monkshood to get through the winter. Everything will be all right."  
"It's not about that," Sam said quietly. "It's not just because I killed last night. I need answers. Answers to why I have access to Ginger's memories, why my emotions are causing me to change, whether or not there's a cure, not just a treatment. I'm not going to find the answers here. I need to travel a bit, see if I can get my questions answered."

"I'll come with you," Brigitte began.

"You can't," Sam said. "I have to do this alone. I want you to go live with your mother. Forget everything that's happened here. Build a new life for yourself. I'll come back to you when I've found what I'm looking for." He looked into her eyes and saw tears there. "OK?"

Brigitte hugged him and began to cry. First she'd lost her sister, now she was losing a true friend, the first guy she'd ever cared about. Without Ginger or Sam, there was no point in staying in town.

"All right," Brigitte said, drying her eyes. "I'll call Mom and tell her to come and get me."

"Good," Sam said. "Go live with your mom, and I promise to keep in touch with you. I'll keep you posted on wherever I go, whatever I find, I promise."

"All right," Brigitte sniffled.

Sam then took Brigitte into his arms and kissed her. It was hard for him to leave her, but he had to do what he had to do.

"I love you, Brigitte," Sam said. "I always have."

"Me, too," Brigitte said. "I love you, too."

Sam then reluctantly let Brigitte go and got into his van. As he cranked the ignition, he kept his eyes on Brigitte. He kept his eyes on her as he pulled out of the driveway, and didn't look away from her until she was in his blind spot. After that, he kept his eyes on the road leading out of Bailey Downs, looking forward to whatever lay ahead of him. Behind him, Brigitte went into the greenhouse to call her mother.

Neither Sam nor Brigitte knew what lay waiting for them.

For Sam, it was a place full of monsters, magic and new friends.

For Brigitte, it was a place full of monsters, demons, and untrustworthy people.

Sam, as he drove off, had no way of knowing that he would never see Brigitte again.

**THE END**


End file.
